Steeley Blues
by VGWrighte
Summary: Set Season 2. Remington and Laura wake up with little to no memory of the night before. Why is everything ruined?


Steeley Blues

Based upon Remington Steele

Takes place during Season 2

I know the setup here is a little hard to swallow, just go with it.

- - - - -

Laura woke up extremely comfortable. So it took her a few seconds to notice some very important details. She was not in her own bed, but more importantly there were a pair of men's arms around her and it was, presumably, his breath over her shoulder.

She opened her eyes to see her own reflection, and she realized where she was. "Oh my God," she whispered sharply, jumping up. Upon reaching her feet, she took better stock of her situation. She was wearing the silk slip she'd been wearing yesterday, along with an man's button-up dress shirt, which was open.

The man who owned the shirt still lay in the bed, half asleep.

That man was the man she knew as Remington Steele.

"Oh, my God." She leaned across the bed and gave him a shove. "Get up!"

He opened his blue eyes, saw her, and jumped out of the bed. "Laura?" He looked around. He wasn't wearing a shirt, which made sense because it appeared as if Laura was wearing it. The bed between them appeared quite disheveled. "Laura, did we . . ."

She shook her head. "I can't remember."

His eyes shifted back and forth before settling on the bed. "I can't remember either."

"What's the last thing you _do_ remember?" she asked.

He racked his brain for an answer. "We were at the Club, and I had the tortellini and you had the black bean soup. Our drinks had come, and then it gets hazy. I remember a taxi . . ." He looked up and saw Laura's face. From her expression, he knew she remembered it too. 'Heated passion' would be a gentle description.

"That's all I can remember, too."

He shook his head. "Listen, I've got a pounding headache, and I'm sure you've got one too. Take a shower and I'll make us some breakfast. Okay?"

She nodded and he left the room to the kitchen. He leaned against the cabinet when he got there, trying to remember just what had happened. But that was the thing, he couldn't remember. It saddened him to know that the thing he'd been chasing after for year and a half.

He shook his head. Maybe nothing happened. He turned to the refrigerator and retrieved a few eggs. He closed his eyes and prayed that nothing happened, though he knew it no longer mattered now. Things had changed between he and Laura, and no amount of remembering was going to change that.

He got out a frying pan and shook his head again. He really hoped that nothing happened.

- - -

The first thing Laura did when she got into the shower was check her skin. There were no mysterious dark spots, scratches, bruises, contusions, rug burns, skin burns, or any other kind of mark that wouldn't belong. The evidence spoke that nothing happened, but for all that she knew, he was a gentle . . . she didn't even want to think the word.

Thinking it might validate it.

She hoped nothing had happened, but well, it didn't really matter anymore. Things had changed. She had always been afraid of opening up to him, afraid of becoming lost in his undeniable charm and then loosing him. She could never justify any sort of action that would leave her that vulnerable, but she knew, somehow, she already had.

She ran her fingers through her hair and allowed a few tears to slip from her eyes. She felt that she had missed the most important part of their relationship, and even though she missed it, it affected her just the same. Whatever happened last night, or didn't happen, left her feeling exposed.

- - -

By the time he had all the dishes out on the table and the eggs and the bacon ready, Laura was sitting down, wearing a fresh set of clothes (they had learned from experience to keep a fresh set of clothes at each others' homes). She was silent.

He set the plate down in front of her, and sat down opposite her.

Neither one of them touched their food. They simply stared at their hands.

"Things really are that different, aren't they?" he whispered, looking up at her.

She nodded, meeting the cool gaze of his steeley blues. "I'm afraid they are."

"We should, um, go to the Club and get the Auburn, as well as figure out what happened last night," he suggested.

Laura nodded. She stood up, dropping her napkin on the table. "Somehow, I'm not very hungry."

He nodded, standing as well. "Somehow, neither am I."

- - -

The large man scrubbing down the bar smiled when he saw them. "I'm surprised to see anyone from last night return."

"What do you mean?" Laura asked.

He chuckled nervously. "Well, um, I'm a little embarrassed to admit that we had a slight problem with the stock last night. Our vodka supplier had a very specific problem with their stock. It seems that, somehow, a few of their vats experienced a bit of over-fermenting. Some of the vodka bottled and shipped out was a little higher proof that expected."

"Higher proof?" Laura asked.

"Let's just say it was more like absinthe than vodka."

"Absinthe? Isn't that poisonous in certain quantities?"

"Yeah," the bartender nodded. "I've already contacted the police to find everyone who was in here last night and make sure they're alright. And . . . to give them a free dinner redeemable at any time."

"Thanks for dinner offer, but we're just here for our car," Laura chuckled.

The barman looked around, in a slightly nervous fashion. "You mean . . . you two aren't here to investigate me, or anything?" He laughed when they both shook their heads. "Well, that's a relief. Remington Steele and ah . . ." the man pinched his forehead, then snapped in remembrance, "Holt, Laura Holt, walk into your bar and one gets nervous."

Laura chuckled. "Nothing like that."

"You sure?" he asked.

Mr. Steele nodded. "Yeah, no worries mate."

The bartender smiled. "Thanks a lot. If you two ever need romantic dinner for two, or um, a dinner party, or anything, you just call."

"Thanks, mate."

- - -

After picking up the Auburn, he and Laura drove quietly across town to the loft. Neither of them knew what to say. There was nothing either of them could say.

He pulled up in front of her building and waited.

They both sat in silence for a minute.

"Do you, um, want to come up?" Laura asked, so very insincerely.

He saw her as trying to ease the tension that had grown between them like a thick fog. "You and I know that isn't such a great idea."

She chuckled that chuckle she had when she was incredibly nervous. "I'm really glad you see that, too." She stood up and got out of the car. "I-uh-I guess I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah, Monday."

He watched her turn around, hesitate, but head into her building without looking back.

- - -

It had been several weeks, and the caseload had been unusually heavy. Two missing spouses, a misplaced will, an embezzling ice cream man, and rented security guard murder. There had scarcely been a moment to rest. And, of course, he and Laura had had almost no time together which they were not completely wrapped up in a case, nor did either of them really want any down time together.

Neither one of them had made any emotional recovery from the morning after the night neither of them could remember.

But, the docket for the day looked clear, and he wanted a chance to try to improve things. As he stepped out of the elevator butterflies flew in his stomach—a sensation he was not at all used to. He had kept trying to run the conversation in his mind, but he couldn't think of anything that didn't sound absolutely terrible.

Well, he was sure he'd think of something.

He walked through the office door and smiled at Mildred, sitting at her desk. "Morning, morning, morning."

"Morning, Mr. Steele," she smiled. "Coffee's on your desk."

He chuckled. "An angel, you're truly an angel, Mildred."

He walked into his office to see Laura standing behind his desk. She was staring out the window, and looked as if she had been for some time.

"Ms. Holt?" he asked, just to get her attention.

She turned back momentarily, noticed it was him, and turned back to the window. From the small glance of her face he had, he knew something was wrong. She was scared; very scared. Something happened that was out of her control, not part of her plan, and it scared the living daylights out of her.

"Laura?"

She still did not turn to face him. "We need to talk."

He stopped in his tracks. That was never a good sign. 'We need to talk' usually meant that she needed to talk. "Laura, what's going on?"

"I think you should sit down."

That really worried him. An invitation to sit down was the precursor to scary news. He slowly walked closer to her, rounded his desk and sat down in his chair. He turned to face her. "Laura, is everything alright?"

She sat down on the corner of his desk, but she felt miles away.

She took a deep breath and thought for a few moments, formulating the words. The longer she waited, the more nervous he got. "Laura?" he tried to push her along a little.

"Damn it! Why don't you have a real name?!" She jumped up and stormed away from him, but he could tell she was still nervous.

"What?" she had caught him off guard.

"There are times when I can't call you 'Mr. Steele,' not to mention 'Remington.' And those other names . . . what good are they? Michael, Douglas, John, Paul, Richard . . . none of them are real either!" She settled by the window, staring out as she had when he arrived.

Whatever this was, it was big. The unshakeable Laura Holt had been shaken, and shaken bad. He got up and approached her, but was careful to maintain some distance. "Call me what you will, Laura, I am who you need me to be." The words had come unplanned, and he was a little afraid after he had said them. He wanted to take them back, but he knew that they were true.

She turned from the window and met his gaze, her eyes peering right through him. He knew that she knew that he was sincere.

"I'm pregnant." The words tumbling from her mouth, almost as if she had not meant to say them. But, without preamble, they filled the space between them.

They came like bus at fifty-five miles an hour, like the ground after a ten story fall, like the knockout punch in the final round.

The air thickened, so thick that he felt like he could cut it with a knife. So thick, he felt as if they were being pushed apart by the pressure.

He considered himself a generally prepared man, a well prepared man, actually. He could take anything the world through at him, and those who knew him knew that it was often him against the world. But he always survived. Sometimes he only came out with the shirt on his back, and sometimes not even that, and sometimes he came out with guns blazing and without a scratch.

Nothing in all of his thirty some years, or hundreds of thousands of experiences prepared him for this.

Laura's eyes flashed in anger at his silence. "Are you going to say anything?"

"For one of the few times in my life, I don't know what to say." He took her hand in his, before she could turn or leave. "But I can say that I'm not leaving." He paused for a second, holding her gaze. She was still scared, but then again, so was he. "And it's not because I don't have anywhere to go, because I do. It's because I choose to stay . . . here . . . with you."

Without saying another word, she collapsed into his chest. Her breathing was relaxed, but he had the feeling that she was crying.

"It's alright, Laura, I'm scared too."

- - - Several Days Later

"Good news, kids, Grayson has the report," Mildred announced as she walked into his officer.

"Grayson?" Laura repeated turning away from Mr. Steele's bruised ribs. She had been wrapping them.

"How is that good news?" he asked, rubbing him ribs, before standing up from his desk and reaching for his shirt. His entire torso was black ad blue — basically every color which it should not be — and sore beyond all definition, from the savage beating he had received from Grayson's thugs the day before.

Laura smiled. "Because that means Catherine Porter can go purchase it from him.

Mildred chuckled. "Nice try, Honey, but that girl won't go near Grayson, not after what happened to Geyer."

Steven Geyer had been the recipient of a $500,000 grant from the government. Catherine Porter was his associate. If Catherine could prove their success, she would be eligible for further funding, however Grayson was a wronged business associate and was attempting to bribe Catherine for the grant money.

Laura smiled. "Oh, yes she will." She pointed to herself and whistled.

"Laura! Are you insane! You look nothing like Catherine Porter! She's 5'10" with short black hair. Grayson will never believe it."

She shook her head. "Catherine said she had never actually met Grayson. She said she wasn't being blackmailed until Grayson called her when he wasn't receiving the rest of the money."

He shook his head. "No, you're not doing this. It's too dangerous. Grayson is not a patient, nor an understanding man, I can vouch for that," he rubbed his ribs. "We'll find another way."

She scowled at him. "Can I talk to you?" She headed towards her office and he followed. She shut the door behind him and stood threateningly close to him. "No," she said. "You don't get to act like this.

"Laura—" she cut him off.

"You do not get to pretend that I need you to take care of me. Because I don't.

"This is my agency, and we're going to do things my way." She turned on her heel, disallowing him rebuttal, and marched out of the office."

He watched her go. "That was before it was my name on the door," he whispered to no one but himself. "That was before you were going to have my baby."

- - -

She had impersonated Catherine Porter, and, surprisingly, it went exactly as planned. Laura had offered to buy the report and ended up exposing Grayson to the police. She was proud of herself, but felt bad that she had finished the case without him.

He wanted to start living her life for her and she was not going to let herself get lost in him. She was going to continue to be the person she had been for a very long time.

She was Laura Holt.

That said it all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. She got up, and leaned into it, sliding it open.

She was surprised by the piercing gaze of his steeley blues. She recovered quickly, and leaned back. "What are you doing here?" she tried to be defensive.

"I brought you dinner." He helped himself to the kitchen and began to unpack the bag he brought. Virtually ignoring her, he got out a pot and poured what appeared to be soup from a portable container, and turned the stove on.

"Dinner?" she slowly followed him, setting down at the bar.

He smiled curtly. "Yes. It's my way of apologizing for trying to control the agency, even if I may have had honorable intentions."

"It's chicken noodle soup," he said, turning back to his bag.

'Honorable' she thought. That was right; he was being honorable for trying to stifle her. She never should have told him in the first place. Things would be so much easier right now. She tried to conceal an angry sigh, but did not do so well.

He slammed his hand down on the counter top. "No! Don't you regret telling me, Laura!"

She stood up. "Well, I do. If you're going to waltz in here every night with some home-cooked down-on-the-farm meal and stop letting me do _my_ job, then you're damn right I'm going to regret telling you! If you come in here with some self-righteous, Errol Flynn-chivalrous responsibility—"

"But I do have a responsibility here!" He again anticipated her next thought and continued. "I didn't get this responsibility when told you told me, or even when you found out yourself, but the very instant our child started growing inside of you!"

They stared at each other for a moment.

_Our baby_, he had said. That caught her attention. She hadn't really hadn't considered that it was _their baby_. But it was. It was going to be _their baby_.

"Do you mean that?" she whispered, holding the gaze of his steeley blues.

His eyes held hers, knowing exactly what she meant. "Yes, _our_ baby."

- - - A Few Days Later

He was surprised. Very surprised, actually.

Things between him and Laura had calmed significantly. They both seemed to except what was going on between them and they had decided to tackle it together, not alone.

He sat on the couch in his office, massaging his ribs. It was a few days after he had been beaten, and they were still sore. He knew, eventually, they would return to their normal color. However, they hurt in the meantime.

Laura slowly walked into his office and shut the door behind her. She seemed reserved, quieter than she had been in recent days.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

She turned, almost surprised to see him. "Yeah," she nodded.

He got up and walked toward her, unsure if she was telling the truth. Unsure if she knew whether she was telling the truth or not. "What's going on?"

She shook her head. "I'm . . . I'm not pregnant."

The words came softly — like he had lost something. "You're not?" was all he could think of saying, was the only words that he could form.

"No. I'm not, and I'm sure."

He shoved his hands in his pockets not knowing what else to do with them. "I, um . . ."

She smiled. "I'm a little disappointed, too."

He shared her smile and held out his hands, which she took. "We're alright, aren't we?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think we are."

His smile suddenly faded. "What about that night?"

She shrugged. "I can't remember, so it doesn't really matter."

- - - The Night They Could Not Remember

He didn't know how, but he had somehow gotten his door unlocked and they were both inside. He was relatively sure Laura had kicked off her shoes as soon as they got in the door, as she shrunk a few inches.

His lips on her neck, he removed his jacket and walked her into his bedroom. She loosened his tie.

When he broke from her to remove it himself, she suddenly dropped her skirts. They went for each others' shirts. He was successful first, and as she reached down for his belt, he stopped.

This was not right. He could barely think. They had had a lot to drink, he thought. This wasn't right.

"Laura, Laura," he tried to stop her. She continued removing his belt until he grabbed her hands to stay them. "Laura," he said remarkably calmly, though he thought his words were a little sluggish, but he could not tell. "Laura, we can't do this."

She met his gaze, a little confused at first.

"We're not going to remember any of this, and if we do, it's not going to be pretty. Neither of us are going to be happy if this happens like this.

He picked up his shirt from the floor and put it around her shoulders. "We'll feel better in the morning."

She gazed up into his steeley blues and saw a bit of clarity through her hazy mind. "I think you're right, Mr. Steele."

- - - fin - - -


End file.
